


The Shadow of Moonlight

by wyld_things



Series: The Two-Faced Priestess [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-16
Updated: 2018-05-16
Packaged: 2019-05-07 18:52:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14677263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wyld_things/pseuds/wyld_things
Summary: After all, there is power in stories...





	The Shadow of Moonlight

**Author's Note:**

> So I've had a teensy niggling idea for a while...
> 
> As with all of my stories, the disclaimer can be found under the profile tab for my username. I just got really tired of writing it out over and over again. Since it should be really REALLY obvious that unless the fandom tag says "original work" it isn't mine. (-_-) Just saying.

The Ancient and Noble House of Peverell, which would in time become the Ancient and Noble House of Potter, had a secret. It wasn't the oldest of its' secrets, or the most dangerous by far, though if the wrong sort found out about it they would without a doubt lose some of their good standing among the upper echelons of wizarding society. Years ago, when Lord Henry Potter was young and enjoyed a life of travel his wanderings brought him to the Dark Continent where he discovered all manner of ancient mysteries in the desert sands of Egypt. One such mystery, was a beautiful young woman from a hidden tribe of sorcerers who wandered the desert, hidden from muggle eyes by a powerful, unceasing sandstorm.

Angharad, named for her mother, and all her mothers before her was a desert flower like no other. Lord Potter delighted in telling of how this strange woman few out of the sandstorm on howling winds to rescue him from his own foolish curiosity and utter lack of self preservation, before thoroughly boxing his ears like a rather irate grandmother. Until the day he died Lord Henry insisted that it was love at first sight. His wife would grudgingly allow that the besotted young lunatic had eventually grown on her. Rather like an incredibly persistent fungus.

The new Lady Potter was a lovely, statuesque woman, with dark bronze skin, narrow features and large honey-gold eyes. Her waist length ebony hair she wore twisted into hundreds of thin braids and pulled back into all manner of styles. Though she would eventually come to live in England with her husband, Angharad detested the fashions of European witches, preferring instead to don the traditional flowing robes worn by her tribe. Layers of soft fabric, dyed in shades of dark grey, trimmed with red and proper riding boots rather than the delicate slippers and overly complicated and terribly impractical frocks that were fashionable at the time. She would become famous, or possibly infamous for the mask she was never seen in public without. A simple thing, carved from smooth white wood and worn with a dark grey and red headdress to cover her long hair and match her robes.

While not ashamed of her mother exactly, Mistress Margaret strove for conformity where her parents had a tendency to toss it out the window like so much useless rubbish. She straightened her hair, used all manner of magical cosmetics to lighten her dark skin and laced herself into the most fashionable and uncomfortable frocks available in wizarding London. She was a socialite where her mother was reserved and in her later years when she in turn gave birth to her son, a rather rambunctious boy named James, the Wizarding World had all but forgotten Lord Henry's foreign wife. As the woman had disappeared not long after the Lord Potter had passed away.

What the wizards of England did NOT know however, was that Lady Angharad had brought more than her somewhat abrasive personality and derision for court etiquette to her new home on the isle.

She had brought her faith.

An ancient book, written in a language that was all but forgotten, save for among a tiny tribe of sorcerers hidden in the endless _sahara_ sands. Bound in thick leather the pages formed from river reeds, peeled into fibrous strips, woven together and pressed until dried into a thick heavy paper. Angharad brought the magic of her people with her to her cold (and wet) new home and kept it secret so when the time came, her children and grand children and all of their children would have one last safeguard against the evil that would prey upon them. That was the story she told them when they were still young enough to be interested at any rate. Though her daughter would consider it an odd, if enjoyable, fairytale. One she passed on to her son, along with the book of strange pictures and writings no one could read.

After all, there is power in stories...

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thoughts?


End file.
